


Choose Your Last Words

by celeste9



Series: this is a bad idea (but screw it) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Devotion, F/M, Loyalty, Older Woman/Younger Man, Past Leia Organa/Han Solo, Past Poe Dameron/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Power Imbalance, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 17:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: Leia isn’t ashamed, she isn’t sure she has the capacity, but she knows how it would look, the fact that she is fucking Poe. Her best pilot, her trusted operative, a personal recruit. The prettiest one, young enough to be her son.It isn’t like that.Or maybe it is. Leia doesn’t even know any more.





	Choose Your Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to rain_sleet_snow for beta! This is something I started in the immediate aftermath of Carrie Fisher's passing, because apparently the way I cope is through getting Leia and Poe to bang. I didn't intend for it to turn out the way it did, but I hope it will be enjoyable. Title from Lana Del Rey.

Poe Dameron has a clever tongue. This is not a secret. Poe Dameron has charmed and bluffed and finagled his way out of situations that would have gotten most sentients killed.

But Poe Dameron’s tongue is good for other things, too, and not everyone knows that.

Leia’s toes are curling and her body quivers; she squeezes her eyes closed and gasps, letting herself succumb to what she feels, to the overwhelming sensations. As she settles, heart pounding in her chest, she tugs Poe up by his hair.

He moves, kneeling astride her hips, sitting back onto his heels as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Fine?” he asks, grinning.

“Satisfactory,” Leia says, lips quirking.

“That’s what I like to hear, another satisfied customer.” He’s still grinning, a mix of smug and awkward that unaccountably reminds her of Han offering her birthday gifts.

Leia pushes those memories aside.

“You have others besides me?” She’s teasing. She knows he doesn’t.

He could, but he doesn’t.

“Currently? No. You’re all I can handle, General, to be honest. Maybe more than I can, sometimes.” Poe shifts slightly, adjusting himself in his pants.

He’s hard. He always is after this, like bringing Leia to orgasm is foreplay to him.

“Need a hand?” Leia asks.

“No, I can--”

Leia reaches out, rubbing him through his pants. Poe’s breath hitches and he catches his lip between his teeth.

“Doesn’t seem fair,” she says.

“It’s not a business transaction. I help you get off so you help me get off, repeat.”

“No, but you’ll make me feel greedy.” Leia cups him with her palm; his eyelashes flutter.

“If you insist,” he says, and works his pants down his hips.

His skin is silken and Leia enjoys this, driving Poe to speechlessness for once. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes roll back a little; sweat at his temples is making his hair curl. He leans forward, pressing his face into Leia’s neck, less hiding and more muffling himself. Poe is always quiet in a way that seems forced, like he’s trying too hard, like he’s trying not to draw attention to himself, to them, to what they’re doing.

It’s for the best, probably. There is enough gossip on base without fueling it. It would be worse than the talk from during the Rebellion, about her and Han, her and Luke, because she isn’t just the princess anymore, one leader among many, less important than most. She is the general; she has no one to defer to because she is all the Resistance has.

Leia isn’t ashamed, she isn’t sure she has the capacity, but she knows how it would look, the fact that she is fucking Poe. Her best pilot, her trusted operative, a personal recruit. The prettiest one, young enough to be her son.

It isn’t like that.

Or maybe it is. Leia doesn’t even know any more.

All she knows is she doesn’t want to stop.

He spills onto her hand, moaning softly into her neck. She strokes him through it, carding her other hand through the hair on the back of his head, down to the nape of his neck.

“Thank you,” he says, a whisper, as he presses a kiss to her skin, like she has done him a favor.

No, Leia thinks. She doesn’t want to stop.

-

“Yes, General,” Poe says from across the central console, the map of his target destination making his face shimmer blue, his expression serious. Here he is duty and business, the Resistance above all.

 _Yes, General,_ as he always says, no matter what she asks.

He will walk out of the room, back straight, his droid rolling by his feet, Leia’s perfect commander. He will ready his ship and soar off, blinking out into hyperspace. He will do his duty as he always does, and Leia will not worry.

She doesn’t have that luxury.

And then he will return, a little dirtier, a little tired, and he’ll smile easy and pleased when he makes his report. _It got a little tight,_ he’ll say, _but I handled it. Always do._

And then he will come to her at night, pilots’ moonshine on his breath, with that same easy, pleased smile, and he will still say, _Yes, General,_ from over her, from under her, from between her legs, and Leia will think, _this is it, this is the last time._

But in a day Poe will be standing opposite her and saying, _Yes, General,_ in his bright orange flight suit, and Leia knows it will not be the last time.

It’s never the last time, because Leia doesn’t want to stop. Poe doesn’t seem inclined to stop, either.

He is careful when he visits her. He is conscious of the image Leia presents, and of the damage he could do, so he ensures he is never seen. Sometimes Leia thinks his droid is in on it, too, and the thought amuses her. Pilots and their overly loyal, overly attached astromechs: Leia is forever surrounded by them.

It feels dishonest, this sneaking around. Leia is not used to being ashamed of who warms her bed, and she is not ashamed of Poe. And yet they hide.

Black Squadron is celebrating; a dangerous, risky mission turned success. Poe should be with them, but instead he is here, cross-legged on Leia’s bed, sharing a small cake, the acquisition of which Leia has doubts about. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t ask about that.

“They won’t miss you?” Leia asks instead, arching an eyebrow.

Poe shrugs. “Too busy getting drunk and hooking up.”

Leia quirks a smile at Poe’s sheepish expression. As if she doesn’t know what young pilots get up to in the aftermath of an adrenaline-high. She knows Poe’s pilots are all excellent at what they do and deserve the chance to blow off some steam once in a while. Should it be necessary, in the event of a crisis, they’ll all be getting jabbed with Doctor Kalonia’s miracle hangover remedy.

“That doesn’t interest you?”

“When I could spend time with you instead, General? No contest.”

He got that smile from Kes. If Leia were a good deal younger, in spirit and in body, she might be dazzled. It still feels nice to have it directed at her.

“Besides,” Poe says, pushing cake crumbs around the plate with his fork, “it’s not really appropriate, is it? I mean, they’re my squad. Better to keep my privates, er, well, private.”

He is looking sheepish again. He has just spoken against the very thing Leia is doing, with him.

They both know this is inappropriate. They just don’t talk about it.

And they continue to do it.

Sometimes Leia wonders what he is doing with her. Poe is young and handsome and personable, and he values family. Surely he must want that for himself. Leia’s own family has burned to the ground and she has neither the desire nor the ability to build one with Poe. He knows that; that was never what this was.

He is that age, though, when a person might want things. Stability, love, roots, a future. Poe was made for that; it’s how he grew up. His parents surrounded him with love and the very best example of what a family could be.

But then, there is a war on, and that has a way of changing a person’s focus. Poe knows what his parents sacrificed in the war; perhaps he isn’t ready for that, or perhaps he isn’t willing to put another person in that position. Perhaps he is protecting himself. He is openly affectionate and generous with his heart; maybe he is wary of the ensuing hurt and loss if he were to give too much of it to any single being.

Leia remembers Poe as a boy, bright and cheerful. She remembers watching him play with small model starfighters that zoomed in the air around his head and she remembers sitting beside him when Shara passed, quiet and subdued, his eyes red from crying. She remembers Ben trailing after him, half-enchanted, and she remembers thinking that might be something, her son and the Dameron boy. Nothing much came of it; Ben spent more and more time away with Luke and Poe went off to first the Academy and then the New Republic Navy.

But she remembers Ben’s flushed cheeks and swiftly avoided conversations, and she thinks a little might have come of it.

That should be enough to give her pause, she thinks.

Yet it doesn’t.

Poe puts the cake plate aside and straddles Leia’s hips; he drags his thumb over her bottom lip as if to catch a stray bit of icing and then sucks it into his mouth. He looks at her like there is no place he would rather be than here with her, like she is the brightest star he has ever seen, and Leia wonders how she could be expected to turn him away.

She might be grayer than she used to be but she has never been stupid.

She kisses him and thinks that maybe it doesn’t matter what this isn’t, what Leia can’t give him, what she assumes Poe wants from his future.

Because for now, at least, he clearly wants her and Leia couldn’t give a damn what anyone else might think of her for accepting.

-

It has been a long day. They nearly lost an operative on an intelligence-seeking mission and Leia isn’t sure whether her feet or her head aches more. There is a persistent gnawing feeling in her belly that reminds her she hasn’t eaten since half a biscuit with her caf that morning.

She is just about to leave the command center, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep, when Poe ducks in, a plate cradled in one arm.

“General,” he says. “Thought you might have forgotten to eat, so I took the liberty.” He holds out the plate.

Leia tries not to smile. “Kind of you, Dameron.”

He moves closer. No one is watching them. He drags one fingertip down her arm. “I was already in the mess, so it was no trouble.”

She sits back down and takes the plate. Poe occupies himself at a console near her, his presence a familiar comfort offered in a way that no one would think twice of.

If she did have to go and have an ill-advised affair with a younger man under her command, Leia thinks, she could have done worse than Poe Dameron.

When she is done she nods to him, and he gives her a faint smile. She is unsurprised when he meets her in the corridor, partway to her quarters.

She is somewhat more surprised when he checks the hall before steering her into a supply closet.

Leia raises an eyebrow at him once he turns the lights on.

His cheeky smile reminds her of Han and it makes her heart ache for a moment before she shakes it off. “Sorry, General, but you look like you could do with letting loose.”

“My quarters are two minutes from here. You couldn’t wait?”

His hand is warm on her hip. “It’s the principle of it. You, me, closet.”

“I think I’m a few decades too old for having sex in closets, Poe.”

“Oh, you’re never too old for sex in closets, in my experience.”

“You have a lot of sex in closets with people my age?”

“No, but I’m hoping to start.”

There is a question in his eyes to go along with the playfulness. He is unsure of his place, and of how long Leia will continue this dance with him. He believes his time with her is borrowed, that she will tire of this – of him, or of the risk.

 _What is it you want?_ she wonders. _What is this for you?_

It has been a long time since Leia needed to question a lover’s motives or desires. For a man as easy to read as Poe, Leia cannot decipher his stake in this. He wants her, but is it for himself or for her?

She looks at him, a stray thought running through her head. _Why couldn’t you have loved my son? It would have been so much simpler._

_And better for all of us._

“Well, get on with it,” Leia says. “The longer you wait the more tempting my empty bed is.”

She is far, far too old for sex in closets, Leia thinks later, the edge of a shelf digging into her back, her head knocking back against a bucket, and she knows she will be sore and achy after this. It is difficult, though, to summon the energy to mind with Poe thrusting into her, her legs around his waist and his hands on her ass as he props her up.

She doesn’t even mind the delay to her arrival to her empty bed.

-

Leia finds Poe in the hangar bay, perched atop his X-wing with a bottle of booze. Technically Leia could chastise him but she knows she will not. She also knows that Poe will not ask her for anything, though he is guilty and grief-stricken after the disaster of a mission he has just returned from.

So she pretends she needs him and he comes willingly to her bed. They move together and it feels like comfort, though Leia is uncertain of who is comforting whom. He kisses her breasts and she drags her fingernails over his back; she chokes back a whimper when she comes and Poe hides his face in her neck.

He’s heavy. He isn’t tall like Han but he is solidly built, bulky, sort of… sturdy. Thick thighs, toned chest, and faintly, appealingly soft belly. He feels different beneath her hands, on top of her, pressed against her, than Han did. Leia thinks that’s probably good.

He rolls to the side. He likes contact but he knows she prefers space so he always moves and lets her have it. No post-coital snuggling. More… post-coital lying near to each other.

Poe will not speak to her of what’s happened and Leia won’t ask. He will keep his burdens to himself and Leia will let him.

She doesn’t know what this is. He is more than a warm body; she trusts him absolutely. She cares for him, perhaps more than she should. She knows that he cares for her, undoubtedly more than he should. He would do anything for her and that is a fact Leia has taken advantage of for as long as he has been hers to command.

But he doesn’t share with her and Leia doesn’t ask him to.

She is the general, and he is her pilot, and this inappropriate liaison is inappropriate enough already.

-

Poe is not a spy. He is not an intelligence operative. In a better galaxy, Leia would not have to ask him to seek out Lor San Tekka.

In a better galaxy, Leia would not need to ask anyone to seek out Lor San Tekka, and she would not need to ask Poe to do anything.

But it is not a better galaxy and Leia has no one else.

 _I need someone I can trust,_ she doesn’t say. _It’s my brother._

She doesn’t say this, but she knows that Poe hears it all the same.

“Of course, General,” he tells her. “I understand.”

Leia knows that he does.

-

He will take his _Black One_ to his father’s ranch on Yavin 4, where he will rendezvous with an unmarked, unregistered X-wing, one far less flashy, one less likely to attract attention. He must not be found out.

There is too much at risk.

The night before he goes he finds her in her hole of an office, working late so that she will not think too much of her brother, of her son and of all that was lost, of -

It isn’t working.

But he kneels between her legs and makes her forget for just a little while, her hands clenched in his thick hair, her lip bitten through so that she won’t cry out.

He settles back onto his heels for just a moment, watching her, and then he leans against her legs. Leia strokes his hair.

“I’ll find it,” he promises. “I’ll get the map, and I’ll find him for you.”

It isn’t a promise he can make, Leia knows. There is too much that can go wrong.

But if anyone can keep such a promise, it will be Poe.

“Let me do this for you,” he says, his cheek pressed to her knee, and Leia cards her fingers through his hair, over and over.

-

“They found his ship,” Major Brance tells her. “Destroyed. No trace of Commander Dameron, but our intelligence suggests Ren took him in custody to the _Finalizer_.”

 _Ben,_ Leia thinks. _Poe._

She sent him to die, and now she must leave him there. They will torture him first, she is certain. How long will he last, before he gives up the map? Before he gives up her brother?

Will Ben do it himself?

And Leia can send no rescue team, not to a First Order Star Destroyer, occupied by Kylo Ren and, according to their reports, General Hux. Not for one man, no matter who he is, no matter what intelligence he holds.

Taslin is speaking to her of a droid, Poe’s BB-8, and Leia thinks that all might not be lost. (One must never underestimate a droid.)

But Poe, she knows, is.

 _I used him,_ she thinks, _and I sent him to die._

She wonders, if she had been strong enough to resist, if she had been strong enough to end it, if things would be different now. Leia knows the futility of such thoughts but she also knows that the question will weigh on her.

Now, she thinks. Now it stops, and that was the last time.

**_End_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr [here](http://serceleste.tumblr.com).


End file.
